


Siren's Song

by WhichWolfWins



Series: Your Name Tattooed Across My Heart [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Cliche, Contest Entry, Foreshadowing, M/M, Mirror Sex, Musicians, PWP, Pining Sherlock, Punk Rock, Punk!lock, Teenlock, Tumblr: fuckyeahteenlock, almost blow job, crushing from afar, if read as a standalone, long time crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins/pseuds/WhichWolfWins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John goes out with his sister and her girlfriend to watch The Whiphand perform and he's captivated by the band's sexy violinist.</p><p>Or, the one where a one night stand might turn into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siren's Song

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is in no way brit-picked or beta'd, so if you see any mistakes, they are my own and I would love for you to inform me of them! :)
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC, and anyone else involved with the making and producing of this show. This is in no way mine; these are their toys and I am simply playing with them.

A miasmic fog of cigarette smoke covered John like a blanket as his sister opened the door leading downstairs to the club. He quickly covered his nose and mouth with the sleeve of the leather jacket he wore and followed his sister and her girlfriend, Clara, down the stairs. His heavy steel-toed boots thumped loud with each step.

Once they reached the floor, Harry parted the crowd, clinging to Clara’s hand as she bumped people aside with barely a glance. Some of them cursed and threw sharp looks in annoyance and John glared back threateningly, daring anyone to touch his sister. He smirked triumphantly as a few of the faces wavered and others looked quickly away. Huh. Maybe he should try wearing clothes like this more often. He certainly liked them and he got a few lingering looks from the ladies and gents around him. 

The only lighting in the place were the red lights above them and the matching spotlights aimed at the empty, small black stage, and John made sure to keep a close eye on his companions so as not to lose them in the dark club. He knew Harry could probably handle herself in a fight, but he wasn’t going to risk testing that hypothesis, especially because he knew how easy it was for things to get out of hand in places like this. 

They were in the kind of club that was well known for having up and coming bands and performers take the stage. It was in a basement underneath the restaurant owned by the club owner, Angelo. It had a large amount of traffic for such a small place, but it deserved every pass sold in John's opinion, as he's liked every band he's seen perform. 

John rarely had the opportunity to go to Angelo’s anymore, though, because he had to focus on keeping his grades up and he had rugby practice most days, so he was looking forward to listening to some good music and having fun. And it was going to be good music, Harry had promised. She and the lead singer were in the Gay-Straight Alliance together at school, and Harry said not only was she gorgeous, but she was packing some serious pipes. 

At the moment, filler music was playing from the speakers. The concert wasn’t due to start for another five minutes and there was still a steady flow of people thudding down the stairs. John glanced around, looking to see if he recognized anyone in the crowd. He spotted Mike Stamford and he smiled and tilted his chin up at him in recognition. 

Mike had dyed his hair again, this time bright green, yet the reason he stuck out in the crowd wasn’t because of his hair -almost everyone in the club had some sort of hair-dye in their hair, whether it be black or bright colours- but the fact that he was still wearing his work clothes: ironed brown slacks and a plaid short-sleeved button-up shirt, and a green, red, and yellow striped tie tugged loose around his neck. Mike grinned and waved before he was pulled closer to the stage by his girlfriend. They’d been together since middle school and John didn’t see what he saw in her; Maris was selfish - cared about no one but herself. 

John was wearing a pair of black jeans with a white t-shirt layered over by a plaid black, blue and white long-sleeved shirt, and, of course, his leather jacket and his favorite boots. He fit right in with the crowd of punk rockers around him, the way he preferred. He, too, had recently coloured his hair with the help of his sister. Harry had twisted the tips of his hair with blue dye and tinfoil, and now the short, sharp spikes all over his head were sandy blond and electric blue. His sister, whose hair was naturally the same colour as John’s, had a streak of hot pink which she currently had tucked behind her ear, and her girlfriend Clara had curls of purple and the same hot pink mixed in with flowing, dark brown waves. 

They found a place located near the front and up against the wall. The black wall was covered in chalk drawings and ‘blank was here’s and random blurbs about who sucked who’s cock and what number you could dial to reach them. John crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, feeling exhausted from rugby practice earlier that day and grateful that it was finally the weekend. 

Random band members began to trickle out onto the black rectangle of a stage and started to set up their equipment. A guy with his blond hair buzzed, tattoos on his neck (pistols crossed), and a leather jacket covered in chains began to set up the drums while puffing on the cigarette dangling from his lips. His name was something Moran, if John remembered correctly. He had eyes that told John he would break the bones of anyone who showed him even the littlest bit of disrespect; they gave John the shivers. 

Another guy, with his hair either dyed silver or early greying tuned his bass guitar, plucking at the strings as he talked to a girl with shoulder-length blond hair standing by his feet. She offered her hand and he took it and pressed a kiss to her fingers, then went back to turning the knobs on his guitar. 

Harry swatted John’s chest and leaned close as a girl with long, dark brown hair walked out onto the stage, carrying with her a black microphone in one hand and the stand in the other. “That’s Irene,” Harry shouted over the music into his ear. “Told you she was hot.” 

The lead singer, Irene, was wearing skin-tight and slashed-up dark blue jeans and a Sex Pistols t-shirt (of which, years later, after John’s sister pulled up a website featuring Irene the Dominatrix while he was visiting her on holiday, John would wonder if it perhaps had been promoting more than just her favorite band). Her eyes were heavily done up with black eyeliner and mascara and her lips were painted blood red. She wore an indeterminate-from-where-John-stood-coloured jewel in her nose and a hoop through one eyebrow. Harry was right: Irene was hot. And, unfortunately, a lesbian. John sighed and continued dreaming. 

A mocha-skinned girl with corkscrew-curls and a guy with his dark brown hair flopped limply over his forehead took the stage. The girl helped the guy tune his guitar as the final member strode onto the stage carrying a smaller instrument case. 

The last arrival had a head of dark curls laced with red, two hoops at the top of his right ear, two jewelled-studs at the bottom and a third that was a skull, as well as a hoop in the middle of his full bottom lip. He wore black jeans and a black t-shirt with a white skull underneath a leather jacket. He paused in front of the guy and girl and his nose scrunched as he snarled at the guy. “Dammit, Anderson, I told you not to come! We don’t need your clumsy fingerwork screwing up our performance,” the boy said, the microphone echoing his words. There was a spattering of laughter in the crowd. 

The girl crossed her arms over the strap of her electric guitar and glared at him. “The band voted, freak, and he gets to stay,” she said, her eyes slit defiantly. 

The bass player caught sight of the stand-off and joined the group, clapping a hand onto the shoulder of the tall, dark haired guy still holding the instrument case. The bass player said something quietly that made the last arrival stride away with an agitated look on his face. The girl smirked before turning back to tuning the boy’s guitar for him. 

The attractive punk propped the bottom of the instrument case on a chair and quickly unclasped the case to draw out a violin bow and its rosin. John watched, intrigued, as the guy began to prepare the bow. 

John turned to his sister to ask who the guy was, but he was distracted by the sound of Irene talking into the microphone. 

“Hello,” she said, smiling bright underneath the red spotlight. She wiggled her fingers in a wave at a pretty redhead girl toward the front. “We are 'The Whiphand' and we’re going to knock some sense into you,” Irene said with a sexy smile, and then she pointed at the redhead with the shoulder-length hair and added, “and then I’m going to meet you backstage," she added with a wink. "This is our self-titled debut and we hope you like it.” 

The silver-haired guy with the bass guitar began to pluck at the strings. The sound was deep and vibrating. One pluck of a string followed eventually by another, and then another, until soon the strings were vibrating low in quick succession. 

Next came the drums, coming in sounding like rain pattering on a rooftop, and then the boy with the tangle of red and black curls tucked the violin underneath his chin and poised the bow over the strings. He dragged the bow across them quickly, emitting a sharp sound that was almost painful shrieking through the speakers before he pushed the bow back the other way, softening the blow by dropping the sound almost dangerously low. He repeated it, a piercingly sharp shove across and a then a slow drag back. 

Then there was the high wail of the electric guitar played by the curly-haired girl, followed by the boy who’s hair looked like it could really use a good clean. The violin picked up slightly faster, sharp then low, and that seemed to be Irene’s cue. The singer pulled the black microphone stand toward her, grabbing the taped red end of the microphone’s handle, and began to sing. 

Something happened to John while the music played; his brain fried or something. Everything besides the music completely fell away. Irene’s voice, sometimes soft, sometimes screaming, and sometimes moaning in a way that made John blush managed to filter in, and the drums and guitars, sounding as if from far away, were a drifting constant, but the violin... it took John’s breath away. 

When the music stopped, John wasn’t quite sure, but one moment it was everything, all-consuming, and then it was ripped away, and John was left feeling as if he’d been drowning and he just finally managed to break the surface to gasp for air. His skin was tingling and his not already spiked hairs were standing on end. 

In a daze, John glanced around at the people surrounding him, his cheeks burning with embarrassment from being so swept up in the music. It felt like being caught sleeping in class by the teacher and being told to answer a question you didn't hear. 

He met his sister’s gaze and she smirked at him, her cheeks flushed and her almost-gray blue eyes twinkling. “First time I watched them perform, I was out of it for the rest of the day.” 

John glanced up at the stage and found it empty except for the drummer taking apart his drum set and the greasy-haired kid wrapping up all the cords. He was disappointed to find that the punk violinist was nowhere in sight and he turned to follow his sister and her girlfriend out of the building in a slow trickle. 

The air was cool on John’s overheated skin and he inhaled deeply. His skin was still tingling with arousal and adrenaline from the concert and he really didn’t want to go home just yet. Harry was heading over with Clara to her’s, though, so he was on his own. He peered around at the few remaining people, looking for a familiar face, but found no one. With a disappointed sigh, he turned to head home. 

“You got a light?” 

John turned at the sound of the deep voice coming from the alley beside Angelo's and he spotted a familiar figure standing under a light beside the side door to the club. It was the boy who’d been playing the violin. He was leaning back on his shoulders against the brick wall and pushed off the wall when he saw John stutter to a stop. John took a few steps into the alley, wanting to get a closer look at the punk boy who’d looked so sexy on stage from a distance. “Um, no. Sorry,” John said, frowning. “Aren’t you a bit young for that, anyway?” 

A slow smile crossed the boys lips and he dug in his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. He held up the fag in his hand with his pierced eyebrow cocked and, holding John’s gaze, tucked the cigarette back inside. “I’ve been meaning to quit,” the boy said. “Again.” He studied John as he pocketed the cigarette pack and the smile returned. “I saw you watching me while I was onstage.” 

John felt his cheeks flush with warmth and hoped it didn't show, because his cheeks were still pink from being inside the club. The violinist looked even better up close. His cheekbones were prominent and his lips were even more plush than John had been lead to believe. “Yeah, well, you were the performer and I was the audience. That tends to be the way it works.” 

The boy chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Do you normally get a hard-on watching someone play the violin?” 

John gaped at the punk boy. “I did not!” he exclaimed, his cheeks burning even more. It was true that his cock had been throbbing in his shredded jeans, but he had not been hard, and even if he had been, there was no way the violinist could have seen it from where he stood. John blinked his eyes for longer than he should have done and inhaled steadying breaths for bravery. When he opened his eyes, he said, “You were good, but not that good. You couldn’t get me hard if you tried.” 

That earned him a look from the other teen that looked too much like he was accepting the challenge. The punk smiled in a way that matched the skull on his shirt and John swallowed thickly. “That’s too bad, then,” the violinist said, his low voice sending a tingle from John’s toes up to his scalp. “I was looking forward to taking care of it for you in the dressing room.” 

John’s mouth fell open in disbelief and he breathed in deeply through his nose. He’d been joking when he’d said the boy couldn’t get him hard, but he had not expected to be halfway there just from a few choice words. “Jesus.” 

The boy, who’d walked over to the door leading into the building, paused with his fingers wrapped around the door knob. “Are you coming?” he asked, smirking at John over his shoulder. 

“I don’t even know your name,” John said, pushing his hands deep into his pockets and shifting from foot to foot. 

“Sherlock Holmes, and you’re John Watson.” 

“How do you know that?” John gaped. 

“Your sister said it before she and Clara walked away," the punk said with a smirk. "Now, are you coming?” 

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.” 

Sherlock smiled at John and held the door open for him to let him go in first. John passed by Sherlock into the dimly lit hallway and pressed himself against the wall to let Sherlock pass him so he could lead the way. The violinist squeezed into the space between John and the other wall, but instead of slipping past, however, Sherlock slid his fingers into the spikes of John’s hair and leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. 

The lip ring in the middle of Sherlock’s bottom lip was weird at first, but soon John found himself happily tracing the ring with his tongue until Sherlock grunted and delved his tongue into John’s mouth. 

John felt a tongue ring sliding along his tongue and an erection matching his own pressed into his hip and he held onto Sherlock’s hips and ground against it as he sucked greedily on Sherlock’s tongue. Sherlock thumped his head back against the wall and moaned. 

“Where’s the dressing room?” John panted. 

Sherlock pointed to a red door down the hall and John scooped Sherlock’s arse into his arms and carried him to the room. John shoved the door open and kicked it closed behind him as he pressed Sherlock against the wall and kissed him hungrily. 

“Oh god, please,” Sherlock managed to say as John caught his breath. 

John stilled and met Sherlock’s eyes. There was barely any iris left to speak of around his pitch black pupils. He noticed for the first time that Sherlock was wearing silver eye shadow and dark red liquid eyeliner. Sherlock's eyes were stunning. “Should I stop?” 

Sherlock shook his head. “I want you to fuck me.” 

“Oh, god!” John slurred, and he started fighting Sherlock out of his jacket. It was hard to do with Sherlock pressed up against the wall, so he carried him over to the black vanity table and set him down on top of it. The lights around the mirror were the only lighting in the dim room. 

They quickly shed each other of their shirts, but John had trouble getting open all three of Sherlock’s chained, studded and spiked belts, so he kicked off his boots and pulled off his jeans as Sherlock took care of them himself, his violinist fingers stumbling hurriedly. 

There were spikes on the toes of Sherlock’s boots and John avoided them as he yanked them off and threw them to the cement floor. Sherlock was wearing long black socks and black pants decorated in tiny white skulls and the violinist wrapped his legs around John’s hips before he got the chance to peel them off. 

“We need,” John mumbled against Sherlock’s lips in between kisses, “lube. There’s a condom... and a packet... in my wallet.” 

Sherlock reached down with one of his legs and scooped John’s jeans up with his foot. John quickly dug the condom and lubricant out and dropped the condom onto the vanity. He bent down to kiss Sherlock again and caught his cheekbone as Sherlock turned his face away. “John, I think you need to know something.” 

He could feel Sherlock's heart racing against his chest. 

John swallowed and pulled away to meet Sherlock’s suddenly reluctant gaze. “What is it?” 

“I’ve never...” Sherlock said, and swallowed thickly. 

John ran his fingers up and down Sherlock’s back soothingly. “Nothing?” 

The violinist nodded. 

A stone fell in John’s stomach and he leaned farther away. “Are you... sure? About this?” He pointed at each of them. “I mean... it’s your first time and all. Don’t you want it to be special?” 

Sherlock lowered his legs from around John’s waist and released him, not meeting John’s eyes. “What I said before, about how I knew your name, was a lie. I’ve known your name for quite some time, actually. Your sister used to have a crush on Irene and she would come watch us practice just to see her, and she talked about you quite a lot. I saw you with her once, at your locker, and I knew it was you when she said your name, and then I started to see you around school all the time with those friends of your’s." There was a distasteful look on Sherlock's face when he said this. "You’re nothing like them, not where it counts, and I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a long time, but...” Sherlock hesitated a moment before saying, “People don’t like me. I upset them, tell them things they don’t want to hear and scare them away, and I didn’t want you to look at me the same way. Then I saw you looking at me on stage and I knew I just had to try, because I really wanted you to keep looking at me like that.” 

John cleared his throat, embarrassed. “So, what you’re saying is that you’ve been stalking me and crushing on me from afar for, what, more than 6 months now? Harry’s been with Clara about that long.” 

“Two years,” Sherlock informed him. 

“Two whole- two years and I’ve never even...” John scrubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus. That’s two years of expectations to live up to.” 

Sherlock reached up and cupped the back of John’s neck with his fingers, caressed his thumbs along the sides of his neck and made him shiver. “It is, and I must say that you’ve exceeded them by far.” 

John met Sherlock’s eyes and he was smiling reassuringly. John reached up and traced Sherlock’s bottom lip with his thumb before bending down to press a soft kiss to it. He captured the piercing between his lips and sucked on Sherlock’s plump lip. “I’m sure if you’re sure.” 

Sherlock laughed. “Of course I’m sure,” he said, before he slid his pierced tongue into John’s mouth. 

John moved back into the space between Sherlock’s legs and slid his hands down the length of his back. He kept going until his hands passed under the band of Sherlock’s pants and he squeezed Sherlock’s arse cheeks, soft and firm, in his hands. He pulled away from a kiss and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s ear. “Turn over.” 

Sherlock released a shaky breath and John felt Sherlock’s erection press against him as he slid quickly off the vanity and turned around to brace his hands on it. 

John kissed a trail down the expanse of Sherlock’s smooth, lily white back until he reached his pants, then he tugged them down and introduced his tongue into the kisses as he traced the curve of Sherlock’s arse with his mouth. He nipped him playfully a couple times and Sherlock gasped and wriggled. 

John pressed his hand against his own throbbing erection to resist coming in his pants. Sherlock was making needy sounds, little whimpers and moans, that were going straight to his cock. He tore the packet of lube open and covered his fingers in the liquid. He could feel Sherlock trembling and he kissed the back of his thighs softly. “Ready?” 

“Do hurry up, John,” Sherlock said, his voice rough. “I’ve been thinking about this for too long and I doubt I’ll last very much longer.” 

John giggled and pressed one last kiss to Sherlock’s arse before he pressed his finger against Sherlock’s hole. John was slow at first, afraid to hurt Sherlock, but soon the other boy was pressing back and keening for more. Once he was up to three fingers, he decided Sherlock had had enough; he couldn’t wait anymore, either. 

Sherlock made an impatient, displeased sound when John removed his fingers. He passed John the condom over his shoulder and slumped down to rest his head against his forearms, sticking his arse up in the air. John quickly sheathed himself with it and lined himself up behind Sherlock. He pressed steadily in with his heart racing and Sherlock panting beneath him. 

“Fuck,” John breathed, once Sherlock was fully seated against him. He held Sherlock’s hips to keep himself from going too fast. 

“John,” Sherlock whined. “John, come on!” 

John pulled almost all the way out before he pressed slowly back in. He did this a couple times, moving just a little faster each time until he looked up and caught his reflection in the mirror. His cheeks were splotchy and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. All he could see of Sherlock was his forearm, the top of his head, and his long, pale back. 

“Sherlock, let me see you,” John said. He reached up and brushed Sherlock’s hair back from his forehead. “Please, look in the mirror.” 

The boy beneath John pushed himself up with shaky arms and looked into the mirror. Sherlock’s lips parted at the sight of their reflection and he ran his tongue across his bottom lip. He looked thoroughly debauched and breathtaking, his chest and cheeks flushed pink and his red and black curls sticking out in every which way. Sherlock tilted his head to the side suggestively and John couldn’t resist bowing down and sucking on the juncture between Sherlock’s neck and shoulder. He tasted like sweat and cigarette smoke. 

John ground into Sherlock, loving the feeling of being stretched out on top of him, until his calves started to burn from the stretch. He sank back onto his heels and gripped Sherlock’s hips to thrust into him harder. It felt spectacular. 

John’s orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave and he shouted his pleasure as he came inside Sherlock. His toes curled against the cement floor as the tremors of aftershock shuddered through him and he struggled to catch his breath. 

Sherlock moved to prop himself onto one hand to take his erection in the other, but John spun him around before he had the chance to do anything about it. He dropped down onto his knees on the cold cement and took Sherlock’s dripping cock into his mouth. He’d barely begun to suck before Sherlock was coming in his mouth with his head thrown back. He cried out, shouting John’s name. 

Sherlock pulled John up and into a deep kiss, digging his fingers into John’s back to hold him close. He kissed him breathlessly until he couldn’t anymore, tasting himself on John's tongue. He dropped his forehead onto John’s shoulder and breathed deeply. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Sherlock panted. 

“Hmm?” said John, who was sucking greedy kisses into Sherlock’s neck like tattoos. 

Sherlock, who’s mind was in a pleasant haze, eventually managed to say, “don’t play dumb.” 

John released Sherlock’s neck with a loud ‘pop’ and laved his tongue over the sensitive spot before leaning back. Sherlock raised his eyes and they looked a nearly colourless pale green. “I know I didn’t have to,” John said. “I wanted to. I want to again, if you’ll let me.” He reached up and ran the pad of his finger over Sherlock’s full bottom lip again, making the other boy blink slowly. “I like you, and I think, after two years of pining after me, if you still like me, we should definitely see how this,” he pointed back and forth between them, “could turn out. What do you say? Deal?” 

Sherlock smiled up at him and nodded, and they sealed it with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I did not intend for this to be porn, but, as they tend to when it comes to me, it kind of turned out that way. I hope you liked it!
> 
> If you have the time, I would appreciate it if you could tell me what you think of this! :)
> 
> [Here](http://whichwolfwins.tumblr.com/) is a link to my tumblr in case you would like to follow me!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Guitarist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/879389) by [DoomedTemperament](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoomedTemperament/pseuds/DoomedTemperament)




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